


Firebird

by Atalante



Category: Aces in Space - Fandom
Genre: Dogfight - Freeform, Other, RPG, Rivalry, Space Opera, TTRPG, Toxicity, bikers in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 10:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20758730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalante/pseuds/Atalante
Summary: The short story by Christian and Judith Vogt. Aces in Space is a tabletop RPG about space gangs, toxicity and teamwork.





	Firebird

Tracer projectiles passed Nneka’s cockpit too close to her left. The ringing sound made crystal clear: two or three of them peppered the stub wings of her Chopper.  
Hopefully nothing vital. She pushed the throttle, pulled the stick and banked right to evade a deadly volley from her six.  
“Woohoo! That was a close call! Can’t shake this smashing bandit! Crash Dummy, where are you?”  
No answer.  
Nneka, callsign Firebird, evaded the attacks from behind her with a crazy dance through the debris field. The impacts from the iron projectiles around her blew smaller pieces of space junk out of existence. The armor of her Chopper could not take a direct hit, but she did a good job with her zigzag flying so far. She made sure her tail cam was streaming, but also activated a second window for her followers and addressed the Datanet crowd.  
“Hey folks, look at this bandit on my tail. Has a hard time shooting me down. I bet most of you don’t want to swap seats with me at the moment. Hope you’ll see this guy in my guncam soon, given my wingpal will eventually decide to join the party! What looked like an easy surveillance mission in the debris field from the Battle of Raman turned out to become a rendezvous with some scavengers. They probably think our Choppers will bring a better price on the market than the junk around me.  
Let’s demonstrate them how bad an idea that is. Firebird out.”  
The Like counter in her head-up display was spinning. If she could manage to survive this, this unexpected encounter, as well as the formidable evasive stunts, the near hits, and her lil’ TED talk would deliver some social media credibility. She adjusted her thrusters and tried to shake the bandit with a barrel roll, G-forces pulling  
at her. But her opponent was worth their fuel. Sensors still showing a starfighter at her six, the target-lock alarm still ringing.  
“Crash Dummy?! I could really need a hand here. Be an ehrenbro and come over here”, she screamed in her com.  
“Copy that. On my way, bro. Busy with helping out Lobo and Surf ‘n Turf.”  
Nneka released her breath. About time.  
“Firebird, darling, I can’t get any firing solution in between these cruiser wrecks. Turn ninety degrees and we sandwich this frakster.”  
“Hundo P!”, she answered and turned.  
“Slowly… slowly… yes! Rock One! … and a hit!”, came their voice out of Nneka’s com. “Got this bandit!”  
Nneka got some free space to fly an Immelmann to turn around. No visual on the expected fireball. Instead, she saw the bandit running, black smoke from their tail, and Crash Dummy’s Chopper on it, guns ablaze.  
“Stop it, Crash Dummy. Break and fall back to the squadron. No yolo!”  
“No way! I nearly got them. This is my fifth kill, Nneka. This one and you can kiss my Ace ass!”  
Stupid idiot! She was sure that she saw a third sensor contact when they engaged the scavengers. One was shot down by Lobo, one was skirting, but where was the third one?  
Maybe it wasn’t a Chopper, but rather some supporting mining or cargo vessel not up for a dogfight. Nevertheless, even a support vessel could be equipped with a gun and prepare an ambush.  
“Bro, I am your wingqueen, and this is an order! Your followers will have to wait a bit. Break and fall back.”  
The com stayed silent. Shit. “Crash, when you don’t break this very moment, I swear last night was the last time we were smashing! Turn your enby ass around! Do it now!”  
No reaction. She accelerated to follow them. At least, they had enough respect not to pull out the old “the com connection is bad”-trick. Her gut feeling was screaming at her, repeating the word “trap” again and again. The main engines of her Chopper weren’t strong enough to catch up. Her machine, a 99er Novablast,  
was more or less a massive autocannon with mounted cockpit and thrusters. It was all about firepower and maneuverability, not about  
exceeding speed limits.  
However, she had one last trick up her sleeve. Nneka texted into her trusted followers channel:  
Raman debris field. Any stream aside from the Intenionals squadron?  
Maybe some of those scavengers were dreaming of becoming a wannabe Chopper Jockey or a gramstar. And the first step in doing this was by streaming a guncam feed. This happened on quite a regular basis among pirates and scavengers. Unlike real Jockeys however, they often didn’t know when to switch off their stream–making themselves vulnerable to stream sniping by Nneka’s followers, who would hunt for and analyse recorded head-up  
display data to get some viable information for the Jockey they loved and supported.  
And indeed, there it was!  
SneakPeak87 transmitted position data of a vessel, hiding on the hull of a drifting corvette. Her computer interpolated the flight vectors of the bandit, Crash Dummy and the firing angle of the ambushing vessel.  
Nneka screamed warnings into her com, but Crash seemed to have switched off their com for real. Her two other bros were on their way, but still some clicks behind her. Too late to intervene.  
Six seconds till catastrophe.  
No direct line of fire for the gun. No missiles left.  
Five seconds.  
The hull of the corvette was damaged and Nneka's gun massive. A good aimed shot could punch through it and still destroy a target behind the obstacle.  
Four seconds.  
The time left would only allow for one volley. This attack had to hit! She charged the magnetic rails of her autocannon for maximum impact.  
Three seconds.  
She aimed carefully with the nose of her Chopper. Manual aim. Her sophisticated targeting NAI system was recently wracked by the Reaper virus, on the hunt for computer systems becoming too smart.  
Two Seconds.  
Nneka touched her lucky charm, the small fat unicorn figurine, a present from her older sister, pinned in front of her. And activated her guncam stream.  
“Rock One!”  
She released the bound magnetic energy, accelerating pieces of iron, which peppered the hiding enemy ship. The resulting explosion made Crash Dummy break off their pursuit.  
Finally. Her Like counter made some more serious jumps again.  
“Sorry, queen.” Their voice from the com. A bit sheepish. They better were! “Don’t tell the president, okay?”  
She fell silent, angry. Let them wait a bit.  
“Affirmative”, she answered eventually. “But we all know who’ll scrub the Choppers of the whole squadron next week, do we?”  
“We all know”, they answered. “… and Nneka? Thank you!”


End file.
